Absolutely Mad
by Patricia de Lioncourt
Summary: A "missing scene" in the Mad Love story. Harley is forced to go home while the Joker is still at large and is more than surprised to find a visitor waiting for her.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Batman: The Animated Series. It belongs to its respective owners. No money made here.  
 **Author's Notes:** I'm currently reading the novelization of Mad Love, and that was a huge inspiration on this fic. Also, for inspiration, my BFF Slinky_And_The_BloodyWands mentioned having written a character study piece, and I realized that I hadn't done one of those in a while. So, not only is this a pseudo "missing scene" one-shot, it's also a character study. Enjoy!

* * *

Joker had been escaped from Arkham for just shy of a week. In fact, in about—Harleen checked her watch—twelve hours or so, it would be exactly a week. She sighed, staring at the dirty and peeling green door of her fourth-floor walk-up apartment. Dr. Leland had made her go home. She had been on alert along with the rest of the staff. There were nurses there that were on their second double, but Leland had made _her_ leave. The cops had tried to make her go into hiding, to a safe house. After all, she had been his therapist. She was a target. She shoved her hand into her skirt's shallow pocket and withdrew her house key. They didn't get it. They would never _get_ it.

She put the key in the lock and jiggled it, doing the special little wiggle it needed to get all the tumblers to fall into the right order to actually open. A telltale _click_ sounded and she sighed, twisting the knob a little more violently than necessary and shoving the door open.

The apartment wasn't much. It was clean, despite appearances. It needed a paint job, re-carpeting, and maybe some updated appliances. But there were no dirty dishes in the sink, nothing out of place, and the only reason she knew for a fact that there was a basket of clean laundry on her bed was because she hadn't had time to fold and put them away before rushing into work today. The walls were supposed to be white, but had grayed a bit with age, and the carpet had thinned and flattened until it was just little more than a beige version of the carpet they put on cheap cat trees. The sofa was nice and fluffy, and it was probably the newest thing in the whole place. She and her roommate—Angela—had saved up and bought one when they had learned they would be getting the place. Sure, it made deciding who would get it when the two finally got their own places a pain, but that was a future problem. Right now, she had a nice soft place to plop her body down upon. Which was exactly what she did.

"Ang!" she called toward the place's second bedroom—which was down the same hall as her own.

She opened her mouth, ready to call for her again, when her sleep-deprived brain woke up just enough to remind her of the day and time. Angela worked at a club in downtown, and as it was just eeking past seven in the evening, she would be at work. Harleen huffed, laying her head on the arm of the sofa. She let her eyes drift shut, hoping that the sleep that had been rather elusive since Joker's break-out would finally claim her. But images of news headlines flashed before her closed lids, and she opened her eyes.

He just wanted attention. All of her sessions with him had proved this to her. Her poor, poor Joker… how scared he had to be right now. Out in the world, alone. He had grown so used to seeing her every day, speaking with her, telling her all about himself. She was the only soul in this world that really understood the Joker—not Batman, not Leland, not any of the other so-called doctors of Arkham. _Her_.

She had to get back to Arkham. She sat up on the sofa, groaning. She knew if she went back right now, Leland would have her barred from the place. So, instead, she would work. Sleep was out of the question, after all. She launched herself up and stomped her way into her bedroom, feeling not at all bad about the neighbors below her. After all, they were known for their 3 a.m. drunken ragers. They could suck it up when it came to how loudly she walked in her own apartment.

She entered her bedroom, finding the basket of clothing right where she had left it, and her files—on her desk, but not how she had left them. She blinked. Her room was the larger of the two, because Angela had kindly realized that she might need the extra room for her work. She had managed to cram a Queen-sized bed, a small desk, and a dresser into the room. And the files on the Joker she had managed to get from work had been neatly piled on her desk for later perusing. Now, they were splayed across it, almost like someone had been looking through them. Harleen's eyes narrowed. Angela never came in her room, unless invited. Really, she was the world's best roommate.

She entered her room farther, making a beeline for the files, when the soft _click_ of her bedroom door shutting caused her to start and whirl. She blinked and blinked again for good measure. There, standing in her bedroom, one gloved hand still resting on the door, was the Joker.

He was dressed in his signature purple suit, a matching dark gray overcoat and purple hat on. His frozen grin was firmly in place, and his eyes were locked on her.

"J-Joker."

He arched a brow at her. "So formal now, my dear?"

He stepped away from his place behind the closed door, firmly blocking her within the room. She swallowed, hard, and hoped it wasn't visible. Her stomach was doing flips and her heart felt like it was in her throat.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

His face contorted into one of pain, and he pressed a hand over his heart. "Why, my dear doctor, I missed you so terribly!"

Her heart thudded in her chest, and while she was sure that fear was supposed to be the cause, she knew it wasn't. Because she didn't fear the Joker. She never had. But a thin sheen of sweat was forming all over her body, and her heart kept thumping away like an out of control jackhammer.

"You need to come back to the asylum," she said, forcing her voice to be steadier than her heart.

He deepened his frown, which looked all the more pronounced on his usually smiling face. He crossed the distance—what little there was of it—between the two of them, and now stood looming over her.

"You want me to come _back_? To that dreadful, dreary place? Where I'm locked away, caged like an animal?"

Her hands shook, and she curled them into fists to still them. She looked up, meeting his eye. "It's the only way to get your freedom the _right_ way. Please. I'll be there, waiting, if you come back. O-or I can go with you, right now. Whichever you prefer."

"You being with me is the only bright side to that dismal place," Joker sighed.

In the next second, the unthinkable happened. Sure, Harleen had daydreamed about something close to it, but never, in her wildest imaginings, had she ever thought it might happen. Joker closed the small gap between the two of them. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her right up against him. He rested his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder, and when he sighed again, the feel of his warm breath almost made her legs turn to jelly. It was nothing but sheer willpower holding her upright at the moment. She was all too aware of the weight of his hands on the swell of her hips, and she was pressed so tightly against him that she thought she could feel his heart beating in tandem with her own.

Or maybe her heart was just beating that fast, that hard.

"Missed you so horribly," he murmured against her neck, and she felt his lips move against her flesh with every word.

She gasped, as if breaking the surface of water after a long dive. This was inappropriate, she knew that. She had passed all her classes, taken all the training. She knew that this was inappropriate patient-doctor behavior. She knew she should stop it at once, push him away. But, then again, if her theory was right, and he really was just a big child crying out for acceptance… Well, then pushing him away would do more harm than good. Wouldn't it?

"M-Mistah J," she muttered.

She could feel the smile spread. Tentatively, she raised her hands, letting them hover just over the small of his back. Taking a breath, she let them rest on him, returning his hug.

"I'll be with you the whole way," she whispered.

He chuckled in her ear. Then, turning to press his hips against it, he whispered, "I know you will. But I have unfinished business, my dear doctor."

With a shove that was a touch more forceful than it needed to be, Harleen felt herself fly backward onto her bed, the basket of clothing being shoved off against the wall to slide down to the floor with a _thump_. She heard her bedroom door, then the front door, open before she could even scramble to her feet. She bolted, running to the front door, which stood open. She paused in the threshold, seconds away from calling out, when she stopped.

She huffed like she had run miles. She should call for help. She should call the cops or the asylum. But, they would just inform Batman… and that wouldn't help her patient. Gulping in air, she took a shaky step back inside the apartment and shut the door. She turned and forced herself to walk into the kitchen. She pulled out all the makings of a grilled cheese sandwich and went to work putting it together.

She was doing what was best for the Joker. A child needed boundaries. She needed boundaries. Calling the cops or Batman—surrogate father figures—to "get him in trouble" would damage his psyche more than help it. So, she was going to eat. And then she was going bed. Then, it was back to Arkham.

After all, she had promised that she would be there when he was ready.


End file.
